In the Core
by Kelmin
Summary: Not the "Corps," the "Core." As in, the guts of the station. Who runs B5, anyhow? Who fixes it when it's broken? The engineers, of course! Ch. 3 up: Set at the beginning of S2. Chief Miller meets Captain Sheridan. *3/2012 NO LONGER BEING WORKED ON-SORRY!*
1. Broken In

Author's note: "In the Core" fills a gap in the whole B5 series: who makes the station work? The engineers, of course! This story will follow Babylon 5's chief engineer from Season 1 until, well, that would be telling. Each chapter will relate to a particular episode or time period in the show, with cameo appearances by the "real" characters.

Acknowledgements: special thanks to TJW, engineer and beta-reader extraordinaire, for technical, stylistic, and moral support.

Disclaimers: Babylon 5 is owned by JMS, PTEN, Warner Bros, and Babylonian. I don't make a dime off this. Please don't sue me.

Chapter 1: Broken In

"Personal log, computer, insert autodate. Glad to be rid of Captain Ellis Pierce, who I had hoped never to lay eyes on again after I transferred off the _Hyperion_. I never appreciated Sinclair more than when I heard he'd threatened to shoot Pierce's ships out of the sky if they approached Epsilon 3. Hah! Pierce was the worst CO ever. Everything had to be his way, even when he had no idea what he was asking for. Good riddance, bastard! Be a stranger!"

Sharon Miller, Chief Engineer of Babylon 5, stirred four sugars into her coffee and kicked up her feet onto the console.

"Of course, it would've been better if he had managed to NOT break half the station before he left, but what the hell, he's gone, and we can fix it." Miller swigged her coffee. "I think."

Miller scrutinized a hole in her sock, and continued her log entry.

"I don't know about this whole 'Great Machine' thing, though. Kinda makes me nervous, knowing it's down there on the planet, and not knowing a damned thing about it. But, hell, I guess there's plenty out there we don't know a damned thing about – you just don't expect it to suddenly appear beneath your feet, nearly kill you, then save your butt, and THEN tell you to forget it's there. Ambassador Delenn assures us all that with Draal in charge down there, we're at no risk. I just don't like it, though."

"Well, I s'pose we'll be busy enough fixing up the Core after the latest antics of The Powers That Be. Speaking of which, almost time for my meeting with Sinclair. Oooh, he would hate it if I called him that to his face. Let's practice: 'Commander Sinclair, good morning. Hello, Commander. Yes, sir, Commander. I can do that, Commander, I just don't know how long it will take.'"

Miller sighed, and swung her feet off the console. "Not convincingly military. Too bad. What you see is what you get, folks; same as yesterday. Computer, end log entry." Miller took one last look at C-shift's damage assessments, and sighed. "Time to face the music."

Muttering to herself, Miller looked around her quarters for her boots. "Under the bed? There's one. Needs a bit of polish. Too bad. Where's the other one?" She shoved aside a pile of stuff, wondering why she was looking _under_ things for a boot she'd worn just last night. It finally appeared, by the door, right where it belonged. "Mom always said, 'first look where it's _supposed_ to be.' Yep, she's right again." Miller put on her boots.

"Okay, looking pretty put together here, right? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, WHOA! Good thing I looked," said Miller, removing a large chunk of breakfast from her collar. Brushing smaller crumbs from her jacket, Miller headed out the door of her quarters to meet Sinclair in his office.

Miller had the lift to herself most of the way up, since nearly all the rest of the military establishment ran on a much earlier schedule than she did. "0900 shouldn't be such a stretch, should it?" Miller asked herself aloud, confusing the Centauri civilian who had just entered the lift. "Sorry," she said to the Centauri, "just talking to myself. There are two kinds of people: people who talk to themselves, and people who think it's weird when people talk to themselves. What kind are you?" The Centauri looked at her oddly, and exited the lift one level below C&C. "Well, I guess that answers my question," Miller said to herself as she got off the lift at C&C.

"Morning, all," she chirped with false cheer. "Break anything else yet?"

"Hey, Chief, give us a while; we're working on it!" said the officer at the operations station. This was their typical exchange of greetings. "Oh, the Boss is waiting for you in his office."

"Right-oh, on my way. Probably wants to know how long it's gonna take to fix all the damage from yesterday. He oughta know by now what I'm gonna say." Miller headed out of C&C, straight to Sinclair's office.

"Come in, Chief." Sinclair was seated at the table in his office, looking over a damage report on a monitor. "Please, have a seat." He motioned to the seat next to him, and Miller plunked herself down. "Thank you for your as-always very complete report on our situation. Where would you like to start this morning?"

"Well, Commander, I think the most critical area to focus on right now is the damage to the – um, sir, do you mind if I drive?" Sinclair had no objections; he knew Miller was uncomfortable in technical discussions when someone else was in charge of the touch screen. Miller quickly pulled up the diagram she was looking for in her report, showing damage to the zero-G manufacturing areas.

"Zero-G manufacturing?" Sinclair asked. "Shouldn't that be a pretty low priority compared to, say, Hydroponics or Waste Processing?"

"Okay. ZGM is not the area that _looks_ the worst, and it's not the area that would shut us _down_ first, but right now it's pretty much off line. If you want everything fixed, as quickly and cheaply as possible, ZGM has to come first this time. Almost all the parts we'll need to replace can be made there. If we do Hydro first, then we have to import 60% of our parts. If we do ZGM first, we only have to import 10% of our parts. Plus, if I read the gunnery reports right, those guys used up a lot of pulse cannon power packs yesterday. If you want more, and I assume you will, ZGM is where they come from."

Sinclair took this all in, and asked the next logical question. "How will taking care of ZGM first affect our food supplies and waste processing capacities?"

"Well, the quartermaster said that we can take 48 hours, starting from this morning, to work on ZGM without taking our consumables into the red. Operations says that we have 36 hours until we have to put first-level restrictions on grey-water use, and 60 hours until waste processing redlines." Miller braced herself for Sinclair's next question.

"How long will it take to get ZGM up and running?"

Miller sighed. "Commander, you know what I'm going to say. It's not the same as asking the QM how much food we have. He can just pretty much look that up. With damage repair, _first_ I have to find out exactly what's broken, and _then_ I have to figure out what's wrong with it, and _then_ I have to figure out how to fix it quickest. Then, and only then, can I give you an estimate." She tapped the monitor to bring up the report she looked over at breakfast.

"Okay, C-shift was on the 'what's broken' part of it all night, and got partway into the 'what's wrong with it' part. We're talking major repairs in ZGM, moderate in Hydro and Waste, and minor in Blue and Green sectors. Those last two can wait – I know, I know, flak from the bigshots in Green sector. With ZGM, Hydro, and Waste all involved, whatever way we do it will involve some compromises. But, I think it can be done without redlining anything. Here's the plan."

Miller launched into her plan for the repairs, spending the next 15 minutes drawing up a rough schedule with the Commander, sparing him the technical details that weren't important for him to know, and that frankly, he wouldn't understand anyhow. She was pleased with Sinclair's patience with her scheme; it had taken her a while to break him in so that he accepted her ways of working.

"All right, Chief; get right on it. And don't let any of the ambassadorial parties slow you down; if they give you a problem send them straight to me or Ivanova. Dismissed."

Barely remembering to produce a sloppy salute, Miller left Sinclair's office and headed towards the lift that would take her to the shuttle to cover the five kilometers to the part of the station where her true work waited for her. On her trip, Miller looked back, almost fondly, to her very first meeting with Sinclair. "My motto, Commander, is 'Never confuse the important with the urgent.' That's how I get things done." It had taken a while – doesn't it always? – but Sinclair eventually got her point. When you're dealing with the station as a facility, it's different from dealing with the station as a group of people under your command.

Finally, Miller's shuttle car arrived at the last stop on the line, and she disembarked, heading around the corner to her office. She found her second waiting for her. "Hey, Cruz. Just got back from Up Front. How's it coming in ZGM?"

Luis Cruz had been her assistant chief since before the station went on line. At first, they had despised each other, and Miller came close to asking Sinclair to reassign Cruz. But, after realizing that despite outward appearances, Miller was the finest engineer he'd ever worked for, Cruz was able to let go of his distaste for her positively unmilitary attitude, and the two had become an unbeatable team.

"Let me guess," said Cruz. "You didn't tell him we already started."

"Nope!" Miller chirped cheerfully. "What's the point? He's totally broken in. He actually _gets_ it, Luis. Not a single 'Couldn't you just,' nary a 'but I need a concrete timetable,' and 'isn't this more urgent than that' was _nearly_ absent today."

"One of these days, Sharon, the Commander is going to realize that whenever you produce a proposal, you've already mentally stamped it 'Approved by Commander Sinclair' before you even set foot in his office, and half the time, you've already started the work!"

"Maybe," retorted Miller, moving a bin of tools to the other side of her desk, "huh, what's _that_ doing in there? But, what's he gonna do?"

"Whaddaya mean, 'what's he gonna do?' Do you ever recall that you are a member of Earthforce? That you have a rank, and wear a uniform?"

"Luis, Luis, Luis, I thought we were done with this! I certainly know I'm not the military type, but man, _this_ is where the action is! When do you get to run a project like this as a civilian contractor? Does the word 'never' spring to mind? Besides, I haven't been court-martialed yet, hardly at all, right?"

Cruz shook his head. "Let's forget it, all right? Anyhow, look at your board. Alpha and Delta teams are on ZGM repairs. Gamma's pulling up the parts lists for the repairs for ZGM. Beta's already suited up for EVA, to get to work on the hull breaches in Hydroponics. So far the ice patches over the leaks are holding, but they won't last through the day shift."

Miller was already at the digital whiteboard. "Okay, looks like ZGM is under control for now." She used her finger to draw a circle around the relevant portion of the whiteboard, and said "computer, save area and convert to table, save as ZGM parts list plus autodate."

"Converted and saved," the system voice confirmed.

"Erase board," continued Miller.

"Confirm: erase board?" asked the system voice.

Miller grumbled under her breath, "I swear I'm gonna reprogram you." Much more loudly, she continued, "Yes, erase board, would I have said 'erase board' if I meant 'make coffee?'"

"Confirm: erase board?" repeated the system voice.

"Confirmed, erase board!" shouted Miller.

"Board erased," the system voice added helpfully, as the board went blank.

"Computer, send to whiteboard: Power Allocation table, today, chart style Miller 1."

The day's power allocation schedule appeared on the whiteboard. "Okay, Cruz, here's the tricky part for today. There's a big power increase allocated to Medlab today; it's a legitimate need due to yesterday's casualties. Also, Hydroponics is pulling double their normal power, since the damage down there is making the water pumps less efficient. Your priority today is to get into the power allocation code and make it all work. I think you'll need to look at their use curves, interleave them nice and tight, and shave enough off the edges to make it work but not so much that they'll notice."

Cruz smiled. "Excellent. Give me the programming work any day. No skinned knuckles, no puking in zero G, and no 'space suit plumbing!'"

"Yeah, only don't be too happy till you've seen the code. Monkeys wrote it. Twenty years ago."

Cruz's smile faded. "And you're not gonna let me rewrite it today, are you." Cruz's shoulders slumped. "I know, I know, 'you want to let me as bad as I want to do it, but today's not the day.'"

"Never seems to be, does it. Well, things will have to settle down around here sooner or later, right?" Miller addressed the computer again. "Computer: erase board. Confirmed: erase board," she repeated, not waiting to be asked. "Computer, send to whiteboard: Waste Management damage report, today, chart style Miller 1."

"Okay, Luis, I'm gonna be on the Waste project. Will Peterman's in charge of Gamma today, and as soon as he's got the components together for Alpha and Delta to use in ZGM, he and the rest of Gamma will be heading to Waste to work with me down there. I _think_ the worst of it is some pretty seriously trashed electronics down there that we have spares for, luckily, so I'm getting right on replacing the components we don't need ZGM on-line for. Here," she said, as she circled a column on the whiteboard, "is the parts list for what we'll need. Can you have Gamma gather these up from ZGM and bring them down to Waste when they head down?"

"Sure," said Cruz. "I'll be up here with the monkey code. Don't let them talk you into shoveling any actual shit, all right?"

"No way! See ya." Miller was out the door, and immediately back in again. "Whoops, need my tools."

Miller headed farther towards the low-gravity inner core of the station, where Waste Management was located. She entered the large bay that contained the four spherical waste vaporization chambers, on the carousel that sent each sphere in turn to the filling station, where the solid waste from the whole station was collected and delivered to a sphere. When the sphere filled up, the carousel rotated, so the full sphere lined up with the high-voltage assembly that discharged into the sphere, vaporizing the contents into a powder. The next station on the carousel cooled the sphere, condensed any water vapor, and recycled the waste heat into the station's water supply. The final station emptied the inert, cool powder from the sphere, and compacted it into cubes that were offloaded from the station as needed.

Miller examined the set-up in the bay more closely. From the C-shift's report, Miller knew that part of the ceiling of the bay had fallen in on the waste processing stations. The number four sphere, which was locked in at the vaporization station, had a gigantic crack down the side. The high-voltage discharge apparatus behind it was heavily damaged. The acrid stench of melted electronic components hung in the air, like the smell of death in a morgue.

She looked around, finding it odd that the bay appeared empty. "Bill? BILL!!!"

Miller heard a rustling coming from inside vaporization chamber #4. A helmet emerged through the crack in the sphere, and then a thick insulating suit pulled itself stiffly into view. The mummified occupant held a plastic bin of garbage. He slowly bent his elbow to tap his helmet by the ear, and then tapped his own hand. Miller's combadge bleeped. "That you in there, Bill?" she said to her badge.

"Hey chief. Just mucking this lot out so you'll have a clear path. It's incredible what people throw away – you should see some of the good stuff in here!" Bill Watson, the A-shift Waste Management operator, had a collection in his quarters of perfectly useful objects he found in the waste stream from time to time. "If we fall on hard times, I could open a market stall in the Zocalo with this." He plopped the bin down and removed the helmet from his suit.

Miller grinned. "You go right ahead, Bill. So, what have you got for me?" She had seen C-shift's report, of course, but knew the value of a qualitative assessment from the person who was most familiar with the damaged system.

"A bloody mess, is what. And bloody awful timing. The control circuitry in #4 got fried a split second before the electrode was going to discharge to vaporize this lot. So, sphere 4 is locked in place, and the toroid in the discharge assembly is fully charged. Now you can't even get close to the electrode without suiting up. And, we can't do a thing to repair the high-voltage discharge unit until the toroid is discharged."

"Remind me, what's the arcing distance at the electrode when the toroid is fully charged?" asked Miller. She knew the answer perfectly well, but wanted to make sure she and Bill were on the same page.

"Thirty centimeters, and that's cutting it close. I don't get within sixty, even suited up."

Miller smiled. That was the kind of answer she liked to hear. "Okay, Bill, any ideas how to discharge the toroid so we can get down to business?"

Bill frowned. "No chief, I haven't the faintest. Normally, of course, we'd just fire her up and discharge into a heap of garbage. But, with the sphere cracked, that would be a daft thing to do." Daft was, of course, an understatement – the discharge would wipe out most of the deck unless it was properly shaped and enclosed by a sphere. "And, with ZGM off line, we don't have a spare sphere." He was right; the chambers had to be perfectly spherical to shape the discharge arc to vaporize the entire contents of the sphere, and such perfect spheres could only be manufactured in zero-G.

Miller looked around in the bay, her gaze holding on the four spheres for a few moments. "Bill, I've got an idea, but you're not gonna like it. Not gonna like it one bit."

Bill gave her a look that seemed to mean that he probably _wasn't_ going to like it, but was resigned to it being a done deal. "Well, chief, lay it on me."

Miller launched right into her plan. "Okay. We actually DO have a spare sphere – three of 'em, in fact – right here in front of us. What I'm thinking is, bust open the one that's empty now, and see which piece will suit our needs best."

Bill winced at this. "Right, so we'll have two bolluxed units. How will that, as you said, 'suit our needs?'"

"Aha, this is the tricky part. One of the pieces of the unit we break on purpose will _probably_" – Bill cringed again at this qualifier – "fit right over what's left of sphere #4 once we hack off the chunk that's cracked open. We weld on the better piece of the other one we broke, and let 'er rip. It won't make a nice sound, or a nice smell, but that toroid will be discharged, and then we can get down to business." Miller grinned widely at Bill, and pointed at herself with both index fingers. "Am I good, or what?"

Bill rubbed his forehead, as if trying to ward off an incipient headache. "And, we're down to half capacity on Waste Management. Do you always have to break something to fix it?"

"Omelets, eggs, et cetera. Plus, half capacity is infinitely more capacity than zero capacity, which is what we're at until we can get this operation going again."

Bill sighed. "Chief, it's bloody brilliant. Except, how long till you get me two new spheres?"

Miller squinted, looked up to her left, and muttered to herself for a moment. "Eventually. And I can say that without reservation."

"Never mind, sorry I asked." Bill said, resigned to the further destruction of his equipment, all for the greater good. "What next?"

"I figure it'll take about an hour to break sphere number three, another hour to get number four ready for the transplant, and another two hours to get it set up around the breach in number four. Then we let 'er rip, give 'er half an hour to cool down, and then start up the carousel with just the two good spheres operational."

Bill followed along, nodding to agree with her estimates. "So who's coming down here to bust my balls, so to speak?"

Miller grinned at that. "Nobody but the best – Gamma team, minus Peterman." She remembered that Bill wouldn't know who was on Gamma team, and listed their names. "Andrews, Petrovic, Mkundu and Chen. Andrews is an ox and proud of it; he'll be able to do the heavy stuff."

Bill pondered for a moment, putting faces to the names. "Right. Well, I'm just about through with clearing out this lot, so I'll get back to it." Bill suited back up, and went back to #4 to finish hauling out the impressive pile of solid debris that needed to be removed so they could finish the job.

Miller addressed one of the larger of Bill's many found objects. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to sit on you, whatever you are." Miller tapped her combadge, and nearly instantly heard, "Peterman, what's up, Chief?"

"Hey Will, I'm down in Waste. Are you about ready to send Gamma down here?"

"Yeah, we just fed your parts list to the inventory 'bot; it oughta have our order up in 15 minutes or so," Peterman replied over the comlink.

"Great," replied Miller. "Have Gamma check out a forklift, a pneumatic hammer, and a set of hydraulic jaws from the machine pool. Andrews is going to get to have some fun with heavy equipment."

"Do I even want to know what you're up to down there, chief? Never mind, I'll find out soon enough. What've you got on deck for me?"

Miller quickly summed up the plan for Peterman, and then gave him his assignment. "So, your task is to get into the Waste Management carousel code, and make it work so that just the #1 and #2 spheres are active. We're going to have to totally bypass #3 and #4 until we have ZGM up and running, so we can replace the spheres."

"Okay, chief; I'll let you know if I run into any problems. Peterman out."

Ten loud, sweaty and smelly hours later, Miller was finally back at her office. She kicked off her boots at the door, and said to them, "You'll get some polish eventually, don't worry." She unwrapped her take-out dinner, fresh from the Zocalo cafe, and tossed the packaging into the waste chute. _Hmph, don't think I'll ever look at garbage quite the same way,_ she thought, while setting her sandwich on her desk. She called up and read the reports from Alpha, Beta, and Delta teams, munching on her sandwich.

"Okay, computer, open daily report, Miller, insert autodate. Status update. ZGM repairs: estimate completion and return to full operating capacity by 1200 hours tomorrow. Waste Management repairs: operating at 50% capacity pending replacement of two vaporization spheres; these are at the top of the list for ZGM. Redline of Waste Management not anticipated. Hydroponics repairs: hull breaches repaired; water and nutrient circulation restored. Minimal loss of mature plantings. Station greywater system: nominal. Power allocation: nominal. Computer: save as Engineering Report plus autodate, and close; send to C&C."

"Report submitted," the system voice announced.

"Thanks honey, I love you too," replied Miller. "Not a bad day's work, huh?"

"Please clarify," the tremulous voice responded.

"System off," Miller clarified dutifully. She put her feet up on the console and ate her supper. "Not a bad day's work at all."

~TBC~

Next up: Chapter 2: "The Core is Mother, the Core is Father."


	2. MetaMetamorphosis

Chapter 2: Meta-metamorphosis

"Meta: A prefix meaning one level of description higher. If X is some concept then meta-X is data about, or processes operating on, X."

_The Jargon File_, (1999-04-06)

"Electricity is the power that causes all natural phenomena not known to be caused by something else."

--Ambrose Bierce

-~-~-~-~-~

"Personal log, computer insert autodate. Yep, weird shit happening around here, for a nice change of pace. I just recorded a letter to Dad, but couldn't talk about anything that's _really_ been happening lately. I mean, Babylon 4 reappearing? That got classified faster than a Pak'ma'ra could clean out my fridge. That reminds me, better eat out again tonight. Anyhow, Dad probably thinks I've got the boringest job in the Earthforce, but personally, I think it beats training a bunch of pilots how to go kill or get killed."

Miller put her feet up on the com console, as was her habit. "Sheesh, you guys stink!" she addressed her feet. "I think I can actually see little stink waves coming up from you! Umm, computer, delete last two sentences and continue entry."

"I just finished the post-mortem on the Starfury that the pilot who returned from Sector 14 came home in. Hmm, better not call it a post-mortem in front of Stephen. Let's say, 'engineering failure analysis' instead. We don't usually go over ships with such a fine-toothed comb, unless there seems to be an actual equipment failure. But, once Stephen told Sinclair that the pilot apparently died of old age, I requested the time to do a thorough going-over of the ship. After all, when do you get to see the combined effects of 100 years of entropy on a brand-new ship?"

"So, at first it didn't really look like anything had happened – I mean, usually in a really old ship, you would see dust, corrosion, visible wear on moving parts, and all that good stuff. But the only things that I found that indicated any aging were really subtle. For instance, the plastics used in some of the control panel components had gotten brittle. Not the way they would from continuous UV exposure, but differently – I can't explain how. Also, the lubricants in some of the heavier moving parts had broken down in strange ways. They hadn't oxidized, like they would with continuous exposure to atmosphere, but, well, they were just 'off.' And that's pretty much the pattern – everything showed signs of aging that didn't have anything to do with weathering or mechanical overuse, but instead isolated signs of entropy. That's really the only way to describe the changes. If this whole incident weren't classified tighter than a Vorlon's encounter suit, I could get a great paper out of it. But, there you go. If I'd wanted to get a lot of publications, I should've listened to Mom and gone into academia instead of Earthforce."

"Welp, that's all for tonight. Computer, encrypt this entry, password m-1-n-d y-0-u-r 0-w-n b-u-s-1-n-e-s-s, save and close log."

Miller removed her uniform jacket, shook it mightily, then picked off a few tenaciously sticky bits. She removed the insignia, and hung the jacket in the clothing refresher unit. She added the entire pile on the floor to the basket in the unit, threw her uniform trousers in on top, and closed the unit. She was rewarded with an immediate message: "Unit basket overloaded. Please remove 500 grams and restart."

"Override and restart," sighed Miller.

"Warning: for best results, correct overload. An overloaded unit may not remove all deposits and odors. Confirm override?"

"Confirmed," Miller replied. "Fussbudget," she added sotto voce.

The unit responded by respectfully beginning its cleaning cycle. Miller put on her reasonably clean slacks, decided against the Rebo and Zooty T-shirt in the top of the drawer, and instead chose a plain grey jersey. She put on her favorite sneakers and left her quarters, heading to the Zocalo food court for a quick meal.

Miller stopped at her favorite Human take-out cafe, not in the mood for anything exotic, and looked at the menu board. "Junk, or salad? Junk, or salad?" she posed her frequent question. She watched as the slim, athletic-looking woman in front of her in line picked up a salad and went to join her ridiculously handsome male companion. "Okay, salad it is." She picked up her salad, and sat at the one empty table in the area. As soon as she settled onto the stool, her combadge bleeped. "Ah, the good old 'butt-hits-chair alarm.' Miller, go."

"C&C here, ma'am. We've been getting reports for the last hour of brownouts in Quadrant 1 of the Green Sector. We sent the usual maintenance team in, but they said there's nothing they can do. Lt. Commander Ivanova authorized me to call you," replied the tech, sounding nervous that Miller might respond poorly.

"What did they do so far?" Miller asked – maybe the maintenance crew missed something, and she could just send them back again.

"They said to tell you that they checked the generator's readout panel, and that apparently more power is being drawn from the generator than the total of what all the circuits can handle. But, none of the circuit breakers have tripped in the last six weeks."

"Hmph, that's... weird," Miller said around a mouthful of salad. "Did they run a diagnostic on the generator?"

The Command and Control communications officer paused, likely conferring with the repair crew. "Yes ma'am, and everything checked out."

"Okay," Miller responded. "Can I finish my dinner? I'll be much more pleasant if I can have ten minutes."

"Affirmative; Lt. Cmdr. Ivanova said to go when you can. We can hold off the ambassadorial staff for a while."

"Roger that. Tell the maintenance crew I'll see them at the generator in ten minutes."

"Aye, ma'am. C&C out."

Miller chewed her salad thoughtfully. "Could still be the generator; that diagnostic only looks for _normal_ problems. And we don't seem to get a lot of those around here." She picked a thin ring of onion out of the salad and apologized to it. "Sorry, dear, you'll make me offend people. Can I have a rain-check, till the next salad?" Not getting a response from the onion, she continued her train of thought. "They'd've told me if there'd been any trouble reports from outside of Quadrant 1, but I still oughta rule that out anyhow. Don't wanna mess around with the local generator if it's not a local problem." She continued munching on her salad, talking to herself and shaking her head occasionally.

Someone suddenly appeared across from Miller. "Hey, Sharon, mind if I join you?" It was Stephen Franklin. Though they existed in vastly different circles in the station, Miller and Franklin had been friends since they served together briefly just before the Earth-Minbari war. They had bonded quickly, realizing that while neither of them was really the military type, they both came from career-military families, and had ended up in the "family business." Miller had been happy to see him get assigned as Benjamin Kyle's replacement, though she did wonder why Kyle had left so quickly.

"Sure, though I'm just on my way out. I'm on call tonight, and – that's right, you guessed it – I got called! I'll bet that never happens to you medical folks, now, does it?" Miller said cheerfully, always enjoying noticing that someone else's lot in life might be more annoying than hers.

Franklin harrumphed. "Only every time I'm on call, is all. I don't even bother leaving Medlab anymore. I just line up my, um, coffee mugs, and wait for the patients to start showing up." Franklin twirled some spaghetti around his fork. "So what's up tonight? Are they breaking things Up Front again?"

Miller finished her bite, and replied, "Actually, it's a bit of a stumper. Brown-outs in the Green Sector. Theoretically, that shouldn't be possible."

"How come? What if everyone's just using a lot of juice tonight? You know, the Centauri might all be doing their hair at the same time. All those flattening irons going at once could really pull some amps, huh?" joked Franklin, miming the action of pressing his hair into a large Centauri-style crest. He could tell Miller was deep in thought, since she would normally laugh out loud at any joke at the expense of someone else's hairstyle.

"OK, you asked, but you get the short story, since I now have exactly two minutes left." She picked a quarter of a hard-boiled egg out of her salad. "All right, this egg is a quadrant of a residential sector. Each quadrant has its own cold-fusion generator – this olive, here – that supplies power to run everything in the quarters from the lights, to the appliances, to anything plugged into the wall outlets. Each set of quarters has one or more circuit breakers, which will automatically trip if too much current is being pulled. The generator will try to figure out what happened, and will reset the circuit breaker automatically if there's no reason to suspect a malfunction or a safety problem. There's plenty of amps allowed to each room – in fact, we've never had to upgrade, even with all the, hmm, very particular parties we have on the station." Miller proceeded to break and straighten out the recently-discarded piece of onion and lay it next to the egg. "Now this onion is the plasma line from the station's main fusion core." She paused, eying Franklin's spaghetti and meatballs. "Say, can you spare a meatball?"

Franklin passed her a meatball, looking at her diagram dubiously. Miller set it down below the egg.

"Wait wait, don't tell me, the meatball is the fusion core," predicted Franklin.

"Bingo! The plasma line goes all the way through the station, but doesn't supply the living quarters. It's only used for systems that can run straight off the plasma – weapons, defense shields, rotating the station, et cetera. All those functions use way too much juice to be powered off cold fusion generators. So," said Miller, picking up the meatball and popping it in her mouth, "the meatball is irrelevant to this discussion."

Franklin rolled his eyes at her, and wound up some more spaghetti. "Okay, so why can't there be brownouts?"

"Well, the cold-fusion generators can all produce way more power than the total that could be drawn through all the circuits in the quadrant. The only way there could be a brownout would be if there were something wrong with the generator, or if somehow, more power were being drawn than the circuits should allow." She looked off into the distance for a moment. "Hmm, probably worth checking whose quarters are in that quadrant. You never know who's going to try to diddle with things. And I really hate it when people do that." Miller ate her diagram, minus the plasma onion, and cleaned up her area of the table. "Whoops, gotta go. No fair making the maintenance crew wait. Enjoy your spaghetti; see ya later."

"See you, Sharon. And, you let me know what ended up being the problem with the olive and the egg, okay? You got me all curious." Franklin watched her depart.

-~-~-~-~-~

Miller made her way from the Zocalo food court to Quadrant 1 of the Green Sector. As she walked, she asked C&C for a list of all the residents of the quadrant, along with the species of the occupants. She read through the list on her palm-sized datapad. "Oooh, Centauri _and_ Minbari! My, my, isn't _this_ my lucky day!" She called C&C one last time, to ask them to please inform all the residents of the quadrant that she was on her way to start repairs. To her surprise, C&C reported a new wrinkle in the situation.

"Chief, the Minbari ambassador's aide, Mr. Lennier, has become very concerned about the brownouts. He says that Ambassador Delenn's quarters _must_, his emphasis, have continuity of electrical service."

Miller frowned at this. "Okay, ask him what she's using in there that is critical. Let him know we can always put the equipment on a portable power supply and move it to a different quadrant temporarily. Tell him I'll check in with him personally before I do anything rash. No, wait, don't say 'rash,' say... oh hell, you're the communication specialist, you can think of something. Miller out." Miller reached the service panel of the generator for the quadrant, and greeted the techs. "Hey Abbott, hey Chen, we better get this sorted out; the ambassadors are starting to complain." They chuckled, knowing how she disliked dealing with "persons of status."

"Okay, the diagnostic shows nothing, and the breakers aren't tripped. Here's what I figure to try first – let's just reboot the damned thing and see if that fixes it. It'll only take a few minutes, and if it works, well, I'm willing to call it fixed." Chen and Abbot nodded in agreement. "Okay, I'll have the Comm officer page everyone and let them know we're going to shut down for a couple minutes. Whaddaya think, is fifteen minutes fair warning?" Miller frowned. "Hmm, the Minbari ambassador's aide said they had something critical running in her quarters. I'll check that out, while you guys stand by for replies from C&C. Don't reboot till I give the word, okay?"

Miller commed Lennier's quarters. No answer. She took a deep breath, and commed Ambassador Delenn's quarters. A somewhat androgynous voice answered, "Ambassador Delenn's quarters, this is Lennier, how may I help you?"

Miller put on her very best formal voice, and replied, "Good evening, Mr. Lennier. This is Lt. Cmdr. Sharon Miller, Chief Engineer of the station. I understand the ambassador has some important equipment that needs to be powered continuously, correct?"

There was a moment of silence before Lennier answered. "Not... exactly. It would be more accurate to say that the ambassador's quarters currently require uninterrupted electrical service, at all costs." _Polite, but obfuscatory_, Miller thought, _the quintessential Minbari_.

"Mister Lennier, let me explain. In order to try to fix the brownouts this quadrant has been experiencing, I am going to need to reboot the power generator, which will interrupt the power supply to the ambassador's quarters. I am _more_ than happy to send someone to move any essential equipment, but I _will_ need to shut down the power in about ten minutes. The total time out of service should be less than five – "

Lennier cut her off hastily. "No! Chief Miller, we _must_ have continuous power! It is quite urgent that there be no interruptions whatsoever. In fact, it may well be a matter of life and death."

Miller frowned sternly at her combadge, as if Lennier could see her expression. Minbari were not prone to hyperbole, last time she checked. "Mister Lennier, may I request a brief meeting with you or the ambassador? I am on your level of Green Sector now, and I think we should discuss this in person." _At the very least_, she thought, _I might get in to see what's going on in there_.

Another pause. "Very well. I will see you in my quarters immediately. Lennier out."

Miller let out the breath she had been holding. "Whew. Okay, Sharon, I think he just hung up on you. Now what could _possibly_ be going on in there," she wondered aloud. She was starting to think that Lennier's frantic – for a Minbari, that is – insistence on power might have _something_ to do with the Mystery of the Brownouts. She reached Lennier's quarters, and rang the bell. Instantly, the door swooshed open, and she was greeted by a robed, slightly-built Minbari.

"Chief Miller, please come in and take a seat," said Lennier, gesturing towards the spartan living area. Miller followed his gesture, and had a seat on a low chair.

"Okay, Mr. Lennier, let's get straight to the point. I don't mean to be rude, but I do need to fix this problem. It's affecting the entire quadrant – that's one-quarter of the living areas on eight levels of Green Sector. If I am going to be able to help with whatever your ambassador's needs are, I will need to know the specifics. Please pardon my directness, but what exactly does she need uninterrupted power for, that is so sensitive that it can't be moved?" As if the station were listening, the lights in Lennier's quarters dimmed ominously, and slowly came back up to full brightness again. _Wow_, thought Miller, _I didn't think he could _get_ any paler_.

Lennier looked down at the floor. "It is... personal."

_Okay, now we're getting somewhere_. _Right._ "Would it be better for me to speak to Ambassador Delenn?"

Again, the floor seemed of great interest. "She is... indisposed, and cannot be disturbed."

"Okay, so it's a medical thing. Fine. Can you have her go to Medlab? That would be safer if she is really ill, since I don't know whether the power will go out or not. I could call Dr. Franklin, and – "

"No!" Lennier was on his feet. He continued, in a more toned-down voice. "Chief Miller, this is an extremely delicate situation, and I must insist that you respect the ambassador's need for both privacy and uninterrupted electrical service. You will need to find a way to fix the problem without shutting down the generator."

"Mister Lennier!" Miller rose to her feet as well. "You and the ambassador are not the only ones affected by this situation. Unless you can explain the situation to my satisfaction, I need to use the approach that will fix the problem safely and quickly. That's my job – please let me do it!"

Lennier's hands were clenched in a knot in front of his chest. His eyes were wide, and his head tilted slightly to one side. "_My_ first obligation is to serve Ambassador Delenn. If I allow you to –"

Miller interrupted him. "There's no question of 'allowing,' Mister Lennier. I have the authority to shut down the power to this quadrant to make the necessary repairs. I also have the authority to do a safety inspection of any and all areas of the station –"

Now it was Lennier's turn to interrupt. He came as close to shouting as he ever had in his life. "The ambassador's quarters are legally part of the Minbari Federation, and are thus _not_ subject to your whims!"

"Aargh! This has nothing to do with whims! Look, from my perspective, something _very_ strange is happening with the electrical system. And, _you_ seem to be trying to stop me from fixing it, and _you won't even tell me why!_ Plus, safety overrides ambassadorial privilege. Read the station rulebook." _So there._

Lennier's silence made him appear even angrier than his raised voice did. Finally, he spoke again. "We appear to be at an impasse."

Miller realized her current approach was not going to work. _Can you actually reboot a conversation_? She sighed, and said, "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go out, and come back in two minutes. Then, we'll try again, and maybe we can both do better." She nodded to Lennier, and escaped to the hallway.

Miller leaned up against the bulkhead for support. _Okay, what is going on here? I am obviously not going to get any info out of this guy going at him this way, and somehow I don't think Sinclair will be happy with me if I manage to start a diplomatic incident. Sooooo, let's pretend. Let's pretend I am calm, cool, and collected, and oh-so-polite. I can out-Minbari the Minbari. Right?_

On the other side of the bulkhead, Lennier attempted to slow his breathing, to engage in his own meditation. _Human. She is a Human, so she speaks bluntly. She does not understand the sanctity of our rituals, and does not understand that some things are for Minbari eyes only. What would Delenn wish of me?_

He thought of times he had seen Delenn remain calm even when faced with the interminable (and, in his mind, irrational) tirades from the Gaim ambassadorial staff. Or, times she had remained unfazed by constant innuendos and insinuations from Ambassador Mollari. Delenn always took a pragmatic approach, not being afraid to violate Minbari customs with non-Minbari if it was necessary for the situation. _After all, she _is_ an ambassador. Perhaps I should attempt to take the Human's perspective in this case. Yes, I will play her game, and pretend we have not yet spoken._ Lennier smiled ever so slightly as he concluded his short meditation and prepared to open the door, just as the doorbell chimed again.

"Good evening, Mister Lennier," intoned Miller, inclining her head slightly as she had seen Minbari do. "How may I be of service to you?"

"Chief Miller, thank you for coming so promptly. Please come in and sit down." Lennier again indicated the seating area, and they both sat down.

Lennier looked directly at Miller, a directness that felt inappropriate to him but that he realized was important to Humans. "Ambassador Delenn would not wish me to obstruct your efforts to serve her, not even to maintain her privacy. I am willing to do as you ask, including showing you to Ambassador Delenn's quarters. However, I must request that you keep anything you see tonight completely confidential."

Miller knew that the Minbari could be very secretive people. She was prepared for this. "Mister Lennier, I am happy to help in any way I can. However, if there is a situation that I judge to be a threat to the safety of the station or any of its occupants, I am obligated to make a report to Commander Sinclair."

"Understood. I do not believe, however, that such a report will be necessary. Let me explain what I believe is happening." Lennier paused, realizing that he truly knew very little about the device Delenn had constructed to begin her metamorphosis. "Ambassador Delenn recently constructed an ancient device, handed down over generations of Minbari, from the time of Valen, our greatest leader. All she knows about the function of the device is that it will transform her in some way. It appears that the device requires an outside source of power. I fear that the device may be causing the electrical disturbances in this residential quadrant. However, I fear greatly that any further interruption to the power supply may jeopardize the ambassador's life."

_Okay, _now_ we're getting somewhere. _ "Mister Lennier, thank you for your frankness. I assure you that I will do my best to – " _let you have your cake and eat it too_ – "remedy the situation without disturbing the device or reducing its access to electricity. As far as is possible, I will respect the ambassador's privacy, but I may need to see the device."

Lennier looked relieved – or at least that is how Miller interpreted his change in posture. She was not sure, though, whether he was relieved because he had managed to give her some information without having a fit of apoplexy, or because she herself had reacted calmly to the news that the mysterious device might be at the root of the electrical problem.

Lennier continued, apparently fortified by his previous revelations. "No one has ever seen the device in operation. The exact origin of the device is not known, though appears to be related to Vorlon technology. "

Miller's eyebrows threatened her hairline. "Pardon me, but did you say 'Vorlon?'"

Lennier, although he had neither eyebrows nor a hairline, had learned that this gesture signaled astonishment in Humans. "Indeed. However, I cannot tell you any more about the device without violating confidences entrusted to me as Delenn's aide. Perhaps it would be more helpful if you were to see the device."

_Almost there_, thought Miller. "Yes, thank you, that would indeed be useful. I assure you that I will do my best to see only what I need to see." Miller had heard this phrase used by a Minbari once, and thought it might apply in this situation.

Lennier nodded, and rose from his seat. "Please, follow me, but do not touch anything." Miller put her hands behind her back, to signal her understanding, and to remind herself that this visit was strictly hands off. Lennier opened the door that adjoined his living area to the ambassador's – a common arrangement in the ambassadorial sector. Miller followed Lennier, trying hard not to crane her neck to see around him.

The living area was dim, lit only by candles and pyramidal oil-lamps. On the dining table, there was an structure built of what appeared to be flat pieces of multi-colored glass, with a glowing pyramid at the top. The device did not appear to be connected to any electrical fixtures or outlets. Every few seconds, the pyramid emitted – seemingly from nowhere – a piece of white fluff. Each piece of fluff joined many companions in the nearby corner, adding to what appeared to be nothing other than a cocoon.

Miller couldn't help herself. "Holy crap, she's in a _cocoon!_" She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. Lennier politely pretended not to have noticed her outburst.

"May I look more closely?" Miller whispered. "I promise I won't touch anything. I just want to see if the … cocoon … is connected to any electrical outlets."

Lennier nodded. "Yes, you may inspect. I prefer to call the ambassador's current abode a 'chrysalis.'"

Miller bent down to peer at the chrysalis, and finally crawled towards it. She sat on the floor in front of the chrysalis, and stared at it for several minutes. Finally, she stood up, and said quietly, "All right, let's go back."

Back in Lennier's living area, Miller stated the facts as she knew them. "Okay, Mister Lennier. I could see that the chrysalis was extending some tendrils into the electrical outlets on either side of it. I don't want to make any assumptions, but my theory is that the chrysalis is somehow circumventing the circuit breakers that control those electrical outlets, and getting far more power than the outlets could get otherwise."

Lennier nodded. "What will your next step be?"

Miller rubbed her forehead. "Well, I have a couple of ideas. I may need to come back. I'll let you know. Right now, though, if the power usage of the, um, chrysalis remains constant, we're stuck with brownouts until I can figure out for sure what's happening."

"And if the power requirements increase?" asked Lennier.

"Yeah, that's the question, isn't it. I'm assuming there's nothing else you can tell me about how this device works, correct?"

"I have told you what little _anyone_ knows about it, Chief Miller."

Miller again got out her datapad, and tapped away for a moment. "Okay, I'm sending you my direct com-code. If you see any changes, even something that you don't think is significant, call me right away. In the meantime, I'm gonna find some way to get more power to those outlets." She interrupted herself. "Hmm, better be careful not to overload the wiring, though. Sinclair will kill me if I burn the place down." Miller realized that Lennier's eyes had widened astonishingly. "No, don't worry, I just talk to myself like that sometimes – I would never do anything that would risk the safety of the station." Lennier nodded, realizing that she also likely did not mean that Commander Sinclair would actually execute her.

"So, I'll let you know when I know something more. In the mean time, just... keep doing... whatever it is you do." Miller winced. "I mean, carry on as usual."

"Understood," said Lennier. "On behalf of Ambassador Delenn, I thank you," he said, walking Miller to the door.

Back in the corridor, Miller heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, there's a reason I'm an engineer, and not a politician," she reminded herself. She headed back to the generator service panel, to meet up with the techs again. They were scrutinizing the readouts on the panel, trying to look as busy as they could without actually doing anything.

"Okay, guys. I'm going to have a look at the generator."

Abbott frowned. "Why, Chief? Isn't all the information here on the display?"

"Apparently not, since the generator diagnostic tells us everything is working perfectly, none of the circuit breakers are tripped, and yet the whole quadrant is having brownouts!"

Abbott had the grace, and the intelligence, to look sheepish. "Oh, yeah. There is that."

Chen asked, "What did you find out from the Minbari?"

Miller sighed. "Well, let's just say I think that I need to physically look at the generator to get some more ideas. Just me for now, okay? I know I'm being weird, but it's important."

Chen and Abbott shrugged and nodded. The three proceeded around the corner to the doorway that led to the mechanical room for the quadrant. Miller inserted her identicard into the slot, and the door swooshed open. "You guys wait out here, okay?"

Miller entered the closet-like room. The walls were lined with manual shut-offs for every conceivable pipe and duct for the entire quadrant. The back of the room was completely filled by the small cold-fusion generator that powered the quadrant. Miller studied the layout of the room for a moment, and then removed a panel from the wall next to the generator, exposing the various conduits that led to each living area. She unhooked her flashlight from her utility belt, and shone it into the tangle of conduits. "Well, looky here." A thick, organic-looking tendril followed the course of one of the conduits. The number on the conduit matched the number belonging to one of the circuits in Ambassador Delenn's quarters. Miller removed a device from her tool belt, and placed its tip near the tendril She whistled. "Holy mackerel, what _are_ you?" The readout on the device indicated that the tendril was carrying about 80% of the total power the generator was rated to produce.

The tendril snaked along the conduit, into the manual circuit-breaker box. Miller removed another panel, exposing the connections from the breaker box to the generator itself. "Wow. You are one hungry whatever-you-are." She thought for a moment, and went back out into the corridor.

"Okay, guys, I need a portable generator that can (a), fit through this door, and (b), give us as much juice as possible."

"You got it, Chief," said Chen. "I know just the thing – we had it down in Hydroponics last week when their generator quit."

Abbott couldn't contain his curiosity. "So, what's wrong with the generator?"

Miller grinned. "Nothing. I think the diagnostic was right. I just need the generator to test a theory. Sorry guys, but that's all you're getting." The two confused and disappointed techs left to retrieve the device.

Miller retreated into the privacy of the mechanical room. "Miller to C&C."

"C&C here."

"Who's the commanding officer on duty tonight? I need authorization for something."

"Commander Sinclair is on duty tonight," said the female communications officer. "Shall I put you through to him?"

"Yes, please; might as well get this over with before it gets late." She waited while C&C reached the Commander.

"Sinclair here; go ahead, Chief."

"Commander, I'm sorry to bug you, but I've got kind of a weird problem..." Miller filled him in while she waited for the techs to bring the generator. She carefully omitted any mention of the tone of her initial discussion with Lennier. "...So, if things are happening the way I think they are, I am probably gonna want to tap into the main fusion core, to give this thing however much juice it wants."

Several seconds went by before Sinclair replied. "Well, Chief, I think 'weird' is a pretty good word. I trust your judgment; do what you need to do. I'll write an order for you to tap into the fusion core at your discretion. It'll be signed and in the log within five minutes. And, I don't need to remind you that ancillary taps into the core get shut down automatically if there's a combat situation."

Miller heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Commander. And, may I suggest that you talk with Mr. Lennier? I mean, don't tell him I said so, but I think it would be smart if someone officially knew what was going on down there. He didn't want me to say anything to anyone, but I did kind of have to tell you the basics."

Sinclair chuckled. "Chief, that'll be my first stop after signing the orders. Sinclair out."

Just then, Miller could hear Abbott and Chen in the corridor with the portable generator. She replaced the panels she had removed, and opened the door.

"Okay guys, thanks. Bring 'er in and fire her up." They maneuvered the generator into place, and started it up.

"Now what?" asked Abbott.

"Now, we leave. Ooooh, I can see little, teeny question marks hanging over your heads! I know, those really hurt, don't they? Sorry guys," continued Miller, ushering the two out to the corridor, "it's not fair, I know, but I really can't let you in on it yet. But, this will cheer you up. We're gonna get ready to, drum roll please, tap into the central plasma line!"

The techs looked at her skeptically. "Don't you have to get command-level orders for that?"

Miller smiled, smugly. "Already have 'em. The nearest plasma line is two levels aft, where the mid-station pulse cannon battery is located. So, as your consolation prize, get the equipment we'll need – I just sent a list to Supply – and have it there ASAP."

"Yes, ma'am!" The techs went on their way.

Miller commed Lennier. "Mister Lennier, may I come see you please, immediately? I think I may have some answers for you."

"Certainly. I will expect you shortly, Chief."

Back at Lennier's quarters, Miller told Lennier what she had found in the generator room, and explained her theory. "I think that the chrysalis seeks out power, in the same way that a plant's roots seek out water. The generator isn't able to supply all the power that the chrysalis needs, which is why we're having the brownouts. So, I'm testing that theory by putting a portable generator in the generator room, to see if the tendrils will find it and hook up to it."

Lennier digested this information. Finally, he spoke. "I have two questions. First, how do you know that the portable generator will supply enough power to satisfy the needs of the chrysalis? And second, why did the tendrils stop at the generator?"

Miller grinned. "Mister Lennier, you have a very scientific mind. As for your first question, I don't think the second generator _will_ satisfy the needs of the chrysalis. I'm just using it to test my theory. If, in a few minutes, there are tendrils growing towards the second generator, I'll know that they can find power on their own." She paused. "As for the second question... I don't really know why the tendrils didn't try to reach farther. Could be that it's so far away that they didn't smell it. Could be that they aren't able to tap into raw plasma lines to use that power directly. Hell, it's a totally unknown piece of technology that we've got here, so I really don't know. But," she continued, "my plan is to tap into the nearest plasma line, set up a converter station there, and then send a truly enormous power cable right into the generator room. I don't know whether the chrysalis could access raw plasma, but it's a moot point, since there's no safe and quick way to reroute the plasma."

Lennier nodded. "I believe I understand. You are, in a sense, watering the plant, directly at its roots."

"Preeeee-cisely!" Lennier skittered backwards in alarm at this yell. "Oops," whispered Miller, "don't want to disturb the ambassador."

"I do not believe she is aware of her surroundings," stated Lennier. "I would like to see the results of your experiment, if that would be permitted."

"Sure," said Miller. _Though, what will people think when they see me going into a closet with a Minbari? _ She giggled. Lennier looked at her quizzically. "Sorry, I can't control my own brain. It's a Human thing." Lennier agreed, silently.

The two departed Lennier's quarters and visited the generator room. Immediately upon entering, Miller could see new, delicate-looking tendrils reaching into the portable generator's power outlets.

"See?" she said to Lennier, pointing to the tendrils. "Just as I thought."

Lennier peered towards the area where Miller's flashlight beam shone. "The substance appears to be the same as the material that makes up the chrysalis."

"Yep, I am pretty sure we can lick this thing."

Lennier stared at Miller. "I would not advise licking the tendrils, Chief. I do not know what they are made of, but we do know that they may be carrying a great deal of electricity."

"Oh, boy. It's an expression. It means that we have the problem beaten."

"I see," he said. He straightened and continued. "Thank you for your help, Chief Miller. I appreciate that you thought to consult me on this matter, and I apologize for my initial … reluctance to be forthcoming."

"No problem; I probably came on a little strong – overdid it – talked too much. Yep, that's me. Sorry." She took a deep breath. "Anyhow. I'll let you know before I run the power from the fusion core; I'll want you to be on the lookout for any changes then. Though, I think this thing is smart enough to know what to do."

Miller and Lennier left the generator room. On the way out, Miller swiped her identicard through the reader once more, and said to the console, "Computer: this area is now restricted. Access allowed only to me, command staff, and Mister Lennier of the Minbari Federation."

"Acknowledged," replied the computer voice.

Miller glanced at Lennier. "Just in case you want to check on things."

Lennier made a triangular shape with his hands and thumbs, and bowed to her. "Thank you." With a gentle swish of robes, he turned and went down the hall.

Miller departed, to help the techs set up the tap into the plasma line.

-~-~-~-~-~

"Personal log, Earth date 30 January 2258. I have just had a most unusual and educational encounter with Lt. Cmdr. Sharon Miller, the chief engineer of the the station. She speaks in the forthright manner of the Warrior caste, and wears the uniform of the EarthForce. But she thinks and solves problems in the pragmatic manner of the Worker caste. And she speaks in the manner of... no Human I have encountered before. However, she was also able to be polite and deferential in a way similar to the Religious caste, even offering to see only what needed to be seen. She left me with no doubt in my mind that the problem with the power supply to the chrysalis would be solved. When Ambassador Delenn is again with us, I must discuss with her this unusual combination of attributes. Computer, end log entry."


	3. Out With the Old, In With the New

Chapter 3: Out with the old, in with the new.

"Personal log, computer, insert autodate. Heck, I know, Happy New Year, right?" Miller sighed, and fiddled with a string hanging from her cuff. "Not likely. President Santiago is dead. And any engineer who's ever worked on a ship or a station can tell you there's no way the official explanation of an accident with the fusion reactor is true."

Miller ran both hands through her short hair. "It's just bullshit. There's no conceivable 'accident' that could happen with an onboard fusion reactor that wouldn't leave time to get to lifepods. Either the computer was not monitoring the reactor – which says sabotage, to me – or the reaction chamber was ruptured on purpose. Sabotage, again. Or, make that 'assassination.'"

"Either way leaves me a very unhappy engineer. Earth finally had a President who seemed interested in more than just Earth's own interests. Heck, I even voted for the guy. It was really close between him and Clark, but in the end, Santiago pulled it through."

"And now? Who's gonna really believe that this was an accident? Nobody in engineering, that's for sure. Luis is coming up to talk after dinner. He's crushed – Santiago was from the South American Union, and was really popular there. Luis hasn't been able to get through to his family in Peru; I guess all the channels to Earth are full."

"And, to top things off, Sinclair has been reassigned – just like that. I mean, as far as I could tell, there was no warning on this at all. So, Ivanova's in charge till someone new's assigned. We'll see how long that takes." Another sigh. "Computer, save and close."

Miller threw some piles of papers into the recycler, and cleaned up the old take-out food wrappers, trying to make her place a little more presentable. "Ah, who am I trying to fool? Luis knows our habits, doesn't he, my lovelies," she said to some empty bottles and cans on the counter. "Though I should probably make sure there's nothing sticky on the couch."

Miller ran her hands over and between the couch cushions. "Good, safe for the fastidious." Just then, the door chimed its cheerful "doo doo doo deet!"

"Come on in!" she hollered.

Luis came in, looking grim. He was wearing a black poncho, of coarsely woven material, and carrying a bag.

"Hi, Sharon. Thanks for having me over." Luis had dark circles under his eyes, and his voice was flat.

Miller looked curiously at him. "No problem, Luis. What is that you're wearing? And, what's in the bag?" She gestured to the couch. "Have a seat – it's clean, I promise."

Luis sat down heavily. "I was wondering if you'd help me with something. I brought some things to do my family's mourning ritual for President Santiago. I don't know anyone else on the station from Naciones Unidas de Suramérica, and I thought that since you were a Foundationist, maybe you wouldn't mind helping me out with this." He looked away, and back again. "I know we're not close friends, but I really need to do this, and I didn't think you would be offended by my asking."

Miller sat on a chair opposite him. "Sure, Luis; of course I'll help. Of course." She spoke in uncharacteristically quiet tones.

Luis sighed, a hint of old tears in his voice. "This has been really hard, Sharon; really hard. For the first time, the first time in so many decades, I felt like Earth was really heading the right way. Santiago gave hope to all of us that want to see a galaxy of at least peace, if not understanding. And now? Now, I just don't know."

Miller was back to fiddling with the string on her cuff. "I'm right there with you, Luis. I've never been into the political scene, but it seemed like there had to be a better way than the superiority complex that Earthgov had been developing. Ever since the Minbari surrendered – and why _that_ happened just as they were about to clean our collective clocks is beyond me – it seems like we've been getting more and more wrapped up in a vision of an Earth-centric galaxy."

"It's a great loss, Sharon. My family and I really believed that Santiago was going to help steer Earth in a saner direction." Luis opened his bag, and got out a piece of paper. "Did you know my father campaigned for Santiago?" He handed the paper across to Miller.

Miller examined the paper, and handed it back to Luis. "I see it's from Earthdome, but I don't read Spanish."

Luis smiled. "It's a copy of a letter from the President to my father, thanking him for his work on the campaign." He folded the paper into a small square, and set it aside. He removed another item from his bag. It was a small, cast-iron brazier, with four stubby legs. He set the paper in the brazier.

"For this ritual, we burn something symbolic of the person who has died, along with something personal from each of us. People usually use a small snip of hair." He took a tiny pair of scissors from the bag, and snipped a small lock of his hair, and added it to the brazier. "You don't need to if you don't want."

Miller held her hand out, silently. Luis handed her the scissors, and she added a snip of her hair to the brazier. "Okay, what do we do now?"

Luis said, "We have to do the burning in the kitchen area, so we don't set off the heat detector." They took the brazier to the kitchen, where Luis set it on top of the cooking surface. "I'll light it, and say the prayers."

Miller watched as Luis lit the brazier, and listened quietly as he recited several sentences in Spanish, and then said some words in a language she did not recognize. They both watched silently as the embers burned to ash.

Luis emptied the ash into a small container. "Tomorrow, I'll vent the ash into space. You're supposed to scatter the ash near where the person is buried, but since Santiago died in space, that's where the ash should go." Luis replaced the container and the cooled brazier in his bag. He removed the black poncho and added it to the bag.

"Well, that's done," he said. "Thanks, Sharon."

"You're welcome. I'm probably the least spiritual Foundationist you'll ever meet, but I think that was a very nice ritual."

They sat back down in the living room. Miller continued the earlier conversation about Santiago. "It's the whole galaxy's loss, I think. And, I have to say I don't have a good feeling about Clark. His campaign was nasty, and he had a lot of support from the 'Earth for Earthers' bunch."

"Time will tell, but I am also concerned." Luis hesitated, not sure whether to broach the next logical topic. "Sharon, what do you think about the reports of how the accident happened?"

Miller frowned, and went back to worrying at her cuff. "Well, you know, and I know, that the story we're getting from ISN is crap. But, we don't know _why_ that's the story we're getting. I have to say, though, that I can't think of a comfortable explanation for the whole thing."

"Yeah," sighed Luis, "that's what I was afraid you were going to say."

A long silence followed. Uncomfortable with silence, Miller changed the subject – sort of.

"So, what sort of new CO do you think we'll get? I'm betting on a real hard-assed military type, myself. Never got why we had a lowly Commander in charge of this place. Maybe a Major, or at least Captain. Probably some war hero."

"I dunno," said Luis, "why would they send a war hero to a station where we have to get along with the Minbari? Seems like that would just tick them off."

"Ooh, yeah, good point. I've seen a ticked off Minbari lately – they're a lot scarier than you think they'd be."

Luis raised his eyebrows. "Should I even ask how you got a Minbari annoyed? No – no, forget it, I definitely should _not_ ask. Forget I said anything."

"Oh, it all worked out, in the end. Just a difference of priorities, and, shall we say, negotiation style. All good, now. I learned a few things, for sure, but I'm definitely still no diplomat."

"_Really_?" said Luis, in mock astonishment. "I thought for sure you'd transfer to the diplomatic corps someday."

"Hardee har har. Any-hoo, I was just getting used to Sinclair, fraggit. Now I have to break in a new CO. Crap."

"I'll be sure to put in a good word for you," grinned Luis.

_That's better_, thought Miller, _More like himself_. Miller's combadge chose that moment to bleep.

"Miller, go."

"C&C here; Lt. Cmdr. Ivanova would like a word. Can you come up?"

"On my way. Miller out." Sharon and Luis stood up.

"Ooooh, you're in trooouuuble!" said Luis jokingly. "Whadja do?"

"Oh, shoosh. It's probably just routine. Or it will be, unless you make me late. Now I've gotta scoot. Ivanova is the last person in the galaxy that I wanna keep waiting."

~-~-~-~-

Miller rounded the corner into the CO's office, where Ivanova had been holding things together since Sinclair's abrupt departure. As always, Miller wondered why there wasn't a door on the office. She stood outside the open doorway and said, "Knock knock." _Great, start the meeting with the beginning of a bad joke. _

Ivanova looked up from the desktop display. "Come in, Chief Miller." Her eyes returned to the monitor briefly, and she said, "Computer, close file." She looked up again and gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat."

"Yes ma'am."

Ivanova rested her forearms on the desktop, hands folded. "Well, it's the moment we've all been waiting for. I just received word about Commander Sinclair's replacement. He'll be arriving tomorrow, and asked me to schedule meetings with the department heads. How's 0900 the day after tomorrow?"

Practically bursting with unasked questions, Miller said simply, "That would be fine."

Ivanova paused, considering. "Oh wait, I keep forgetting, you're not a morning person. Let's say 1100. Captain Sheridan will want to see everyone at their best." She studied Miller carefully, as if looking for a reaction.

Miller looked contemplative. "Sheridan, Sheridan... sounds familiar. I'm sure I've heard of him." She drummed the desktop with her fingers, then removed her hands hastily. "Oops, sorry. Sheridan... Hmm, it'll come to me, I'm sure." She looked back at Ivanova. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"One more thing. I got a message from Mr. Lennier, Ambassador Delenn's aide." Ivanova pulled up the file on her display.

_Oh, shit,_ thought Miller. _Shit, shit, shit. Here I though everything had come out okay in the end, but I guess he was still pissed as hell..._

"Ah, here it is." Ivanova raised her eyebrows while she re-read the message. She looked back at Miller. "Well, Chief, I have to say I'm impressed."

_Yeah, impressed how royally I screwed up _this_ time, I'll bet._ "Impressed?" Miller asked, nearly squeaking with anxiety.

Ivanova grinned. "You have a fan, Chief. Mr. Lennier says that he and the ambassador, who is still apparently indisposed, are both in your debt for your, and I quote, 'prompt and appropriate resolution' to the electrical problems caused by the ambassador's chrysalis. And, by the way, all the command staff are aware of the chrysalis now."

Miller sighed with relief. "Wow, okay. You had me going there, ma'am." Miller fanned herself for a moment. "Yeah, I think things worked out pretty well, there. You must have gotten my report, right? I mean," she backpedaled, "you must have seen the report I sent to Commander Sinclair before he left. It was a tricky problem, but so far there haven't been any repercussions."

Ivanova played with Miller a little more. "So, how come you're surprised to hear that Mr. Lennier is impressed, then?"

"Well, let's just say, we didn't exactly start off on the right foot."

"You, Chief? Say it isn't so!" Ivanova looked at Miller again, and said, "But seriously. I'm impressed too. The Minbari can be really tricky to deal with – lord knows Lennier has pushed _my_ buttons on occasion – but it sounds like you worked things out nicely. Good work," she said briskly, standing up. She extended her hand to Miller, who stood and shook it firmly.

"Thanks, ma'am. I'll be ready for Captain Sheridan at 1100 on ..." she trailed off. "Ohhhh, boy. _That_ Sheridan? The one who blew up the Black Star?" Miller waited for Ivanova's nod. "Ohhh, boy. This is going to be interesting... I wonder what the Minbari are gonna think of _that_ choice. In fact, what do_ I _think of it? Guess I better get everything ship-shape, huh?" Miller wandered out of the office, talking to herself, yet again neglecting a parting salute.

Ivanova watched in amusement. "Dismissed..." she said, to the empty room.

~-~-~-~-~-

"Personal log, computer, insert autodate. Well, our new CO, Captain John "Starkiller" Sheridan, as the Minbari apparently refer to him, has come in with a bang. Well, luckily, no actual 'bangs,' in fact, but it was pretty tense there. It really looked like we were about to get pounded by the Minbari ship _Trigati_ and her fighters, but Sheridan had them all figured out, and our guys were cool enough not to take the first shot. I also heard that the captain of the _Trigati_ got caught red-handed in Ambassador Delenn's quarters trying to do her in."

Miller paused. "The casual observer does wonder what the heck is going on inside that chrysalis, that's for sure. But back to my own business. Since today was not exactly a calm and easy day down in the core, what with the threat of being blown to high heaven at any second, I didn't get things as orderly as I would like in Engineering. So, up and at 'em early tomorrow, to be ready for Sheridan's visit. Computer, save and close."

Miller finished her usual take-out dinner, leaving the containers on the counter.

"Clean uniform, check. Regulation hairstyle, check. Zit starting on nose, check. Alarm set for 0630, check. Coffee maker set to start at 0615, check. All set to make a super first impression." Miller carefully hung her uniform, ready for the next morning.

~-~-~-~-~-

The lights came on. Way on. Suddenly. Early. "Good morning, Chief Miller, the time is 0630. You have the following new messages. Video message from Luis Cruz. Voicemail from Luis Cruz. Text message from Luis Cruz. Open messages?"

Miller sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, whatever, go ahead. Open video message from Luis Cruz," she said, stumbling into the living area. The coffee maker gurgled, its signal that it was nearly done with its work.

The Babcom screen came on. "Hey, Sharon, rise and shine! Don't forget – today's the meeting with the new CO, 1100. Just wanted to make sure you're not forgetting. Bye."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Computer, open voicemail from Luis Cruz." The Babcom system began playing Reveille, trumpets blatting loudly. Worse still, Luis's voice joined in.

"_You've got to get up_

_You've got to get up_ _You've got to get up this morning_  
_You've got to get up_ _You've got to get up_ _Get up with the bugler's call._  
_The major told the captain_ _The captain told the sergeant_ _The sergeant told the bugler_ _The bugler told them all." _  
Miller, hands over her ears, shouted. "Computer, shut that off! Delete message!"  
"Message deleted," the system voice said.  
"All right, all right, I'm awake, fraggit. Computer, open text message."  
Mercifully quietly, the Babcom screen showed the message. "I _thought_ that would work. Call me when you're up; can't leave anything to chance this morning. Luis."  
"Sheesh. Okay, computer, open a channel to Luis Cruz, voice only."  
The Babcom unit made its usual sounds while it waited for Luis to pick up on the other end. After a few seconds, Miller heard, "Hey Sharon. I guess it worked, huh?"  
"Oh, it worked, all right, you moron," Miller said, cheered up by the whole incident. "I'm awake, don't worry. See you at 0715, my office, right?"  
"You bet. Cruz out."  
The coffee was ready, finally. Miller poured it into her lidded mug, and added six spoonfuls of sugar. She took a sip. "Aaah! The best part of the day." She put her coffee cup on a warmer, and then addressed her coffee: "You wait here. I'll be in the shower. Have to be good for the Captain's inspection, you know." Miller headed to the shower.  
~-~-~-~-~-

Down in the engineering section, Luis waited nervously in the Chief's office. It was 0717, and there was no sign of Miller.

"Hey, did I make you nervous?"

Luis jumped a foot in the air.

"Nah, guess not," continued Miller. "So. Let's go over the day. I'll clean up in here for a while, and you get with Alpha through Delta teams and brief them on the day's work. Which is what, exactly?" she queried.

"Alpha and Beta are on fighter repairs; they didn't take any hits yesterday but two of the pilots said they got some warning lights on the way in."

"Ah, crap," said Miller, "get 'em right on that; I hear the new captain was quite a fighter jock in his day. Last thing we want is for him to want to take a spin and get red lights all over the place. It's probably just the same innocuous thing we've been having with the Starfury fusion drive controllers, but still, see if you can change the threshold on that warning heuristic and get the warning lights to stay off."

Luis nodded in agreement. He continued, "Gamma's on a glitch in Wastewater Recycling, and Delta's on call for emergencies."

"Wow," said Miller, "when does _that_ happen? Must be calming down around here after all." She grinned evilly. "Excellent – I can get them to help me clean up in here while they're waiting around," she said, surveying the mess in the office.

Cruz winced. Miller was fastidious about the public areas of engineering, and about anything at all that had to do with the actual functioning of the station. But, her office was a different story.

~-~-~-~-

At 1055, a strong baritone voice inquired, "Chief Miller?"

Miller, who was engrossed in yet another unnecessary diagnostic, started violently, sloshing her coffee over her desk and her uniform. She looked up in horror, to see a tall Human at her open door. His rank bars glistened, practically shouting out "Captain on deck!"

"Sir!" Miller jumped up, and saluted, dripping coffee onto her face.

"As you were, Lieutenant." Captain John J. Sheridan strode to the desk, plucked a tissue out of a box, and handed it to a horrified Miller. He watched, expressionless, as she threw the sodden tissue into the waste chute.

"Yessir, sorry sir," Miller said lamely. "Engineering Chief Sharon Miller, at your service, if a little bit sticky."

Sheridan smiled. "Relax, Chief; happens to the best of us."

_Yeah, and to me, too, apparently,_ thought Miller. Aloud, she said, "Welcome to Engineering, Captain. Where would you like to begin your inspection?"

Sheridan paused. "Inspection? Oh, no no, I don't need to do an inspection. I just like to meet all the department heads as soon as possible, that's all."

Miller looked crestfallen. "No inspection?"

Sheridan laughed. "Chief, you almost sound disappointed! I'd be happy to get out the white gloves if you want, but – "

"Oh no sir, that's perfectly all right. I mean, not that we have anything to hide, but … oh, never mind. Sir," she added, as an afterthought.

"I'll tell you what, Chief. Why don't we meet up in my office in ten minutes or so. That way we can just chat, and nobody will interrupt you. And, you can even clean up on the way if you like," he added, eying Miller's uniform.

"Yes sir, I appreciate it. I'll be there in ten minutes. And feel free to look around down here in the mean time – I mean, it's your station and everything." Miller winced, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. "Right. Your office, in ten minutes."

She headed out the door. Sheridan wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Miller muttering about "damage done in such a short time" on her way into the engineering bay.

~-~-~-~-~-

Exactly ten minutes later, Miller managed to stop running just before she got to the Captain's office. Sheridan was at his desk. "Have a seat, Chief."

Miller occupied the same chair she'd sat in just two days ago, when she was talking with Ivanova.

"Sorry again, sir, about the mishap down there," said Miller, sheepishly. "I know I'm a real klutz, but honest, I'm good at my job."

"Oh, I don't have any question about that, Lieutenant. You come highly recommended by Commander Sinclair."

"Really?" Miller's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Huh."

"Don't sound so surprised, Lieutenant. I know Sinclair; he's harder to read than Narn script written backwards in crayon. In fact, I think he'll fit in great on Minbar."

Miller remained silent, not finding anything appropriate with which to respond.

"So, Lieutenant, I'll get right down to it," said Sheridan. "I've read your file, and I have to say I'm a bit perplexed about a few things, and I'd like to get your perspective."

_Uh-oh, here it comes_, thought Miller. "Yes sir, what in particular?" she said, knowing already what he was going to bring up.

"I see quite a few reprimands, but I'm not concerned about those since they're all for things that I don't really see as having a lot of relationship to how well an engineer can do his or her job – you know, the uniform violations, barracks citations, et cetera."

Miller's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"Plus," added Sheridan, "they're all from CO's known to be hard on their engineering staff. Take Lefcourt, for example – just between you and me, I don't think there's a single person in Earthforce who hasn't gotten a citation from him on something. So, no, I'm not concerned about that, so relax."

Miller pushed her gaping jaw closed with an index finger. "Okay, sir; thanks. So, what _does_ have you, um, perplexed?"

"Well, to be honest, Chief, it's the insubordination warnings. You know they're there, of course, and you know who they're from – Major Lefcourt, Captain Campbell, and and Commander Giannetti. But what you might _not_ know is that all three of them contain nothing other than 'warning issued for insubordination' and the date. Nothing else."

Sheridan looked squarely at Miller. "I have to say," he continued, "that's pretty unusual. Most insubordination warnings in personnel files have pages of documentation to go along with them. So, I'm thinking that if you could fill me in on what happened those times, we might be able to avoid it in the future. And, you could do me a favor and relieve my curiosity," Sheridan admitted.

"Permission to speak freely," he added, anticipating her discomfort.

Miller carefully considered Sheridan's request. Finally, she began. "Okay, sir. It's like this. My father is career Earthforce. So were his parents, and so on. Way back. Me, I grew up knowing I wanted to be an engineer, so I got to see some really cool stuff when I was a kid. Dad even got me into the engineering bays of some of the ships they were designing way before the E-M war."

She continued, "So, I actually started studying spacecraft engineering in a non-military university. I knew perfectly well that I really, really wasn't a natural for the military. But, it didn't take long before I figured out that the most interesting, the most advanced – heck, the most _anything_ in spacecraft engineering – was all owned by Earthforce."

Sheridan considered this revelation. "So, you transferred to Earthforce Academy, even though you knew you weren't the military type."

"Yessir." Miller fidgeted in her seat. "And all those warnings – well, I suppose I really _was_ insubordinate. You see, I have this approach that tends to, um, _annoy_ my CO's."

"Could you elaborate on that?" Sheridan pointedly did _not_ fidget in his seat.

"Okay, I mean, yessir." Miller looked around the Captain's desk. "Do you have any paper?"

Sheridan opened a drawer and removed some sheets, as well as a pen. He passed them across to Miller, wondering where she was going with this.

"Thanks. So here's the basic problem. It's management thing, really, that I learned from my mother, but I think it applies perfectly to engineering as well." She drew a large two-by-two grid on the page. "Okay, the upper two squares represent tasks that are important – things that will really make a difference to the big picture." She labeled these each with "+important."

"The bottom two squares represent tasks that are not particularly important." She labeled these each with "-important."

"Now, the left two squares represent tasks that are urgent – things where it makes some difference whether the task is completed soon." She added the label "+ urgent" to both of the squares on the left.

"Finally, we have tasks that are not urgent – represented by the two squares on the right." Miller added the "-urgent" label to both the squares on the right. She noticed Sheridan starting to glaze over, and realized she'd better get to her point.

"Now, I never got in trouble with requests or orders that had to do with anything that was '+important,'" she said, pointing to the two upper squares. "Non-urgent tasks that are important are still important. And, I never got in trouble with the bottom right square here," continued Miller, indicating the square labeled "-urgent, -important." "And that's because if it wasn't important or urgent, the task usually never made it to my desk."

"Go on," said Sheridan, starting to see where this was going.

"Now here's the problem child," said Miller, gesturing to the square labeled "+urgent, -important." "Nine times out of ten, if a CO says an engineering or maintenance task is urgent, I get nervous. Because, see, the CO may or may not have the engineering skill to recognize whether the task is really important. And that's where I get myself into trouble."

"Because sometimes the CO wants it done right that second, but there are other things that you consider more important?" queried Sheridan.

"Well, not exactly that I _personally_ consider more important," evaded Miller, squirming in her seat, "but more like, tasks where the order they're addressed in makes a difference to how things work out in the long run," clarified Miller. "Maybe an example will help. There was this time on the EAS Hood, with Captain Campbell. We had just had a skirmish way out near the Rim, and had damage to multiple systems, including Waste Heat Exchange.

"To make a long story short, the standard workaround to keep from having to shut down the fusion core temporarily, ends up making the whole ship uncomfortably hot inside. Needless to say, that made everyone really cranky, so Campbell wanted the temperature fixed right away. But, the problem was, the longer I waited to fix the _real_ problem with WHE, which was melted cooling fins all down the port side of the hull, the more likely it was that we'd ruin _more_ cooling fins."

"Hmph," said Sheridan. "So you wanted to repair the problem at the source before fixing side-effects of the workaround."

"Yeah, the by-the-book workaround, I might add. It's the standard and correct procedure when you're far from drydock."

"All right. So, what did you do?" asked Sheridan.

"Well sir, first I told Captain Campbell that my professional opinion was that I should repair the damage to the cooling fins before addressing the heat in the ship, and that the reason was that we might end up having to replace more cooling fins if we did it his way."

"So, did she ignore your professional recommendation?"

"Not exactly – she just thought I was trying to get out of doing more work later – she thought it was because I was lazy. But really, the problem was that so far out from home, if we had to replace too many cooling fins, we might run into supply problems. I tried to tell her that, sir, I really did – but it... just didn't work."

Sheridan sighed. "Chief, I don't know Captain Campbell personally, but I've never heard complaints of her being unreasonable."

"No sir," replied Miller earnestly, "I don't think she _was_ being unreasonable. She just didn't trust me."

"And that's really the problem, isn't it," Sheridan concluded. "For some reason, your CO's don't trust you enough to take your professional opinion seriously, even though your record, when it comes to engineering proper, is spotless."

Miller looked down, embarrassed. "Yes, sir," she admitted, "I think you've hit the nail on the head."

Sheridan rubbed his forehead.

"Did I give you a headache already, sir?"

"No, no; just thinking."

Miller waited, swinging her leg nervously.

Suddenly, Sheridan looked at her and spoke again.

"When I read between the lines in your file," he said, "I see insubordination warnings that have to be there, because you disobeyed orders. But the warnings aren't fleshed out, probably because the CO knew that you were right. The fact remains, though, that the warnings are there. The picture that I'm getting is that you may have a hard time taking your CO's perspective on the importance of his or her instructions. For instance, did you consider that perhaps Captain Campbell was concerned that an overheated, ornery crew might make crucial errors? And that from the perspective of the CO of a ship with a crew of six hundred, that she might have been right?"

Abashed, Miller replied, "Um, no, not really."

"Lieutenant, you know as well as I do that trust is something to be earned. But, you also know as well as I do that I'm new here, and you've been around since the station was only half completed. And, you've been chief of engineering since the station went on line a year ago. Since that time, there are no reprimands of any kind in your record, and several informal commendations. Your record on _this_ station, in your current position, _does_ inspire me to trust your judgment. I can see without reading between the lines that you are more than competent at your job. So, in my book, you've come a long way towards earning my trust."

Miller looked back at him, astonished. "Thank you, sir!"

"But," cautioned Sheridan, jabbing an index finger towards her, "do _not_ make the mistake of assuming that means you have free rein. I expect you to explain your reasoning if you disagree with my assessment of priorities. And, when my perspective as CO of a station with 250,000 people on it tells me you're wrong, I _will_ expect you to follow my instructions. Are we clear?"

"Clear, sir." Miller paused, waiting to be dismissed. When Sheridan did not immediately dismiss her, she sensed he was giving her an opportunity, so she took it. "Sir," she asked, "can I ask you a question?"

"Go right ahead, Lieutenant," Sheridan said dryly, knowing there probably wasn't much he could say to stop her anyhow.

"Well, I'm wondering, do you have any idea _why_ my CO's don't trust me?" asked Miller.

Sheridan looked at her askance. "Are you sure you really want me to answer that?"

"Well, not really," admitted Miller, "but I'll take the chance."

Sheridan hesitated slightly, and then nodded. "All right. I'm no psychologist, and I'm no telepath, but here's my guess. You seem to have a lot of nervous habits – like, watch your leg right now. You practically hurled your coffee all over yourself this morning, and you pretty much admit that you don't think you're prime Earthforce material. What all that adds up to, is that you look jumpy – like someone who has something to hide. And that will set off alarm bells for any seasoned CO."

Miller sat silently for a moment. "Well, sir, that's something to think about, isn't it."

"Yes it is, Lieutenant; yes it is." Sheridan pushed himself out of his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have one more meeting to do before the Babylon 5 council meeting this afternoon. Dismissed."

"Yessir. And, thank you for your candor."

"Not at all, Lieutenant. People have to know where they stand with each other, don't they."

~-~-~-~-~-

Miller walked uncharacteristically slowly back to the Engineering section. Sheridan hadn't noticed any habits that others hadn't pointed out before, but the fact that he had seen right away what it was about those habits that inspired her former COs' reactions was a bit unnerving.

When Miller returned to her office, there was a message waiting for her – from Lennier. She played it.

"Chief Miller, I would like to inform you that the extra power required in Ambassador Delenn's quarters is no longer necessary. All is well, and the ambassador and I thank you for your assistance. That is all." Lennier ended his message in the abrupt fashion typical of Minbari.

"Well, okey dokey then, I guess I know what I'm working on today," said Miller to herself. "Self improvement will just have to wait till tomorrow."


End file.
